


Maybe

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Peacemakers (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or maybe it wouldn't happen like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for elynross

 

 

Maybe

It's not an altogether unpleasant feeling, being *noticed* by Stone. Most people would hardly even realize it but Finch is a trained detective and for those that know the good Marshall at all, he's fairly telegraphing his interest.

That's all it's proven to be thus far, interest. There's a strange feel to the air whenever the two of them are alone. An awareness that each of them has for the other that makes Finch do foolish things such as cultivate stubble in an effort to prove his masculinity. It's not his finest moment, but he feels the need to do something.

And it isn't altogether unpleasant, this awareness, this palpable feeling that hangs in the air between them. It makes Stone stand just the tiniest bit closer when they're in his lab, Finch bent over a microscope investigating a fiber or a spot of blood and Stone just behind him and slightly to the left. It makes those congratulatory pats on the back last just a moment longer than propriety would normally allow; Katie standing so close and the length turning the nearly platonic touch into something almost *illicit*.

It's... nice, almost nice enough to make him do something about it. It's obvious that it will have to be him, Stone simply doesn't have it in him to make the first move. Living in such a small town, Finch can't really blame him.

And he could do something about it. He could walk up to Stone one day while they were working on a case, while they were in his lab; the lights low and Finch checking the ballistics on the gun taken from the suspect. He'd proclaim a match and Stone would crowd in to take a look. They'd brush against each other and for once, Finch wouldn't back away to a polite distance while Stone peruses the evidence. When Stone turns to him, wondering why he wasn't moving, Finch could kiss him.

He could reach out and put his arms around Stone's shoulders and pull him in. Their lips meeting softly and Finch would part his own slightly, licking lightly at the outside of Stone's mouth. And Stone would open up to him, letting Finch's tongue inside to dart around and when they parted, Stone would pull him back. There'd be lust in his eyes, lust and naked wanting; interest of a completely different kind

Or maybe it wouldn't happen like that.

Perhaps he'd have some important information on a case they're working on, information that needed to be shared right away. He'd rush to see Stone, barging into his private quarters only to find him in the bathroom. He'd be at the wash basin, sun streaming in through a window and glinting off the porcelain, the mirror, Stone's bare chest. Stone would pause, razor against his skin, shaving cream covering his face and ask what was so important Finch needed to interrupt his morning shave.

And Finch would explain the latest development in the case, extrapolating on what it might mean in terms of his theories about the case. And Stone would just listen, slowly pulling the razor across his flesh, scraping the cream from it. He'd thrown in his own ideas periodically, rinsing the blade in the basin and by the time he was finished, they'd have a new insight into the case, possibly a suspect or a motive. And Stone would lean down to cup water between his hands, tossing it over his head and face, wiping it all away with a towel.

He'd probably look up at him in the mirror; make a show of explaining what a razor was for or something of the like. Finch would step forward, away from the shadows in the doorway to stand behind Stone. He'd reach his arms around Stone, not touching but bringing his hands to hover over Stone's face. The Marshall's eyes would meet his in the mirror, interrogating him without words, and close when Finch's thumb ran itself over Stone's newly shaven cheek.

And Finch wouldn't turn him around. He'd stay just like that, his chest to Stones bare back, trailing his hands over him. Stroking over his face, the cheekbones, chin, jaw, feeling the smoothness that only comes right after a shave. His hands would trail down, over the Marshall's throat and chest, and into his trousers. Maybe he'd be hard already, waiting for this, anticipating it for weeks and finally having it.

Maybe he wouldn't though. Maybe he's to surprised that Finch was actually doing something about the constant tension between them that being hard wouldn't even have occurred to him. He'd be hard as soon as Finch touched him though. As soon as Finch touched him the wonder and disbelief would melt away and he'd be hard and waiting in Finch's hand.

It would be beautiful. Stone shaking in his arms as Finch brought him closer and closer. And then he'd stop and Stone would try to turn around, wondering what was wrong. As soon as he was turned Finch would get on his knees and suck him, proving all his former school mates right but not caring because the Marshall was making noises, noises that were so much better than any of the boys at school ever made. Deep, guttural noises that made Finch hard just thinking about them. And when Stone comes, he'll be looking down at him, fingers tight in his hair while Finch brings himself off.

Perhaps, even that isn't the way he'd do it.

He might just visit one evening, while the Marshall was reading next to lamp in his office, to make small talk. No one in lock up, a case recently closed and nothing around them at but silence. He'd sit on the desk; tossing out a comment about whatever the headline was and when the Marshall lowered the paper to look at him... it would cause him to start.

Stone would be sitting there, amusement shining from his eyes and the light glinting off his spectacles and the awareness would flare between them, making everything seem brighter. Finch would move forward, sliding his hip over the scrubbed wooden desk and insinuating himself between it and the Marshall. He'd reach down and draw Stone's shoulders towards him, pulling him in for a kiss. Hot and wet, open mouths and teeth and tongues and Finch would moan and spread his legs, drawing Stone to his feet and between his thighs.

It wouldn't be perfectly fluid. Finch's trousers would likely get tangled about his ankles and Stone would likely take offense when Finch asked him to keep his eyeglasses on. But by the time they had the logistics figured out, and Finch was spread out on his stomach over the desk, it would *feel* perfect. Stone's hands, calloused from riding all his life, gripping his hips and pumping his manhood. Finch's moans as he's brought closer and closer, fingers firmly clutching onto the desk. Orgasm would almost be an afterthought. An extremely pleasurable afterthought but not nearly as important as the play of their bodies against each other.

But there's no guarantee. No way for Finch to be certain that the Marshall's interest stems from genuine feelings or simply curiosity. Finch has heard the same stories about the army that all boys at prep school do, but that doesn't mean anything. He's worked far too long for the small amount of respect the Marshall accords him. It's not something he's willing to give up simply because Ms. Lucy's is too expensive an avenue for Stone.

There's no way to be certain, no way to ascertain the Marshall's intentions. Finch will have to wait, hone his detective skills by figuring out the puzzle that is Jared Stone and be content with the awareness in the meantime. It is nice after all, and, "good work Finch," always sounds better when that gruff voice has an undertone of something else hidden just beneath it.

 

 

 


End file.
